<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Post-Holiday Blues by toasty_keeg</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28459473">Post-Holiday Blues</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/toasty_keeg/pseuds/toasty_keeg'>toasty_keeg</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas With Family, Comfort, Doctor Who References, Family Issues, Gender-neutral Reader, I've always wanted to use that tag ahaha, Jon can use the Beholding to read minds, Martin is warm and smells like cinnamon, Multi, No beta we kayak like Tim, Reader-Insert, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sleepy Cuddles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:40:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28459473</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/toasty_keeg/pseuds/toasty_keeg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You have to go see your toxic family for Christmas, and Jon decides to join you. </p>
<p>A bit late timing-wise, but here you go nonetheless. This one's for all the readers out there with crappy home lives and the stress of spending the holidays with your families.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Reader, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Reader, Martin Blackwood/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Post-Holiday Blues</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You step through the flat door and Jon closes it behind you. One of his arms is burdened with the heavy bag of opened gifts, while you carry the Tupperware containers of leftovers and baked holiday treats to the fridge. It was all so much, and even though you said you didn't want piles of gifts and food, your family had just gone and ignored that. They always go overboard, every single year, stuffing the fridge with more than everyone can eat, cramming stacks of presents in the corner under the tree until they stretch almost as high as your head. It’s excessive, in your opinion; you’re much fonder of the quiet family get-togethers, the ones that aren’t packed with screaming toddlers and every relative living in the country.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To many it would seem as though they were generous and accommodating, but it was false and empty and you know it. When there was company, they were the perfect, ideal family, cut and pasted from some light-hearted sitcom, but the minute it was just you, that was gone. At one point, you stopped trying to change things, coming to accept that this is just how it is, even if it's unpleasant. You’d trudged through it growing up, and now that you were an adult, you could choose to distance yourself from these people.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The gifts and food were just for show. As soon as you and Jon entered your family's home, you could tell. To try and describe it to someone else has always been difficult, to someone who’s had more ideal experiences growing up, but the moment you felt Jon’s hand tense around yours, you knew. He could see them, really see them and their thoughts. He knew. There were thoughts about him, you could tell, from the awkward glances, and about you too, when your mother said to stop being so quiet and smile a bit. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon agreed to this because he didn't have much family left. His parents and grandparents had passed away, and aside from the cousin who lived in Finland, there weren't many family members in the area. Initially, he said he didn't mind staying home, but when he learned of your home situation, he insisted on coming along. You shouldn't have to deal with them alone, he said, and you couldn't necessarily say no to that. Martin asked if he was sure; having experienced less than savory family matters, he knew what it was like, but Jon was certain. As for Martin, his aunt and uncle invited him to spend Christmas with them at their home in the countryside, so he wouldn’t be able to tag along with you. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Your family didn't like Jon, making no attempt to hide it. They tried (and failed) not to stare, and you heard a passing remark about him looking too old for you, commenting in whispers about the scars on his face, neck and hands. Despite everything, you did your best to act normal, counting down the hours, considering gift opening and dinner as checkpoints counting down until it was finally time to leave.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can do so much better than that,” said your mother in a hushed voice as she bade you farewell at the front door. It didn't necessarily sting like it would have years before, your family was just generally awful and wouldn't give themselves to understand the fact that you were an adult now, not an object to be picked and fussed over, and it is extremely impolite to talk about people like that when they're standing right there.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Upon getting into the car, the moment the doors shut and Jon's hands closed around the steering wheel, you both sighed in relief. “You never said it was that bad,” he said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now that you're home, warm and away from all that, you feel a bit lighter. You put the leftovers into the fridge, the bag of presents by the shoe rack to be dealt with later, and settled onto the couch. Jon with his ever-silent footfalls entered the kitchen, and you hadn’t even noticed until he asked if you wanted some tea. Of course you did. The kettle began to whistle as you turned on the television, sifting through the constant stream of Christmas specials and holiday-themed entertainment for something watchable, and you were still clicking away when Jon sat beside you, a steaming mug in each hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing good, huh?” He sips tentatively; the tea is still too hot, and lowers the mug.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“None so far.” You settle on a newer-looking animated retelling of the Nutcracker ballet, a childhood favorite, and let your brain relax. There is peace in the familiarity of the story, the notes of the classic music checking nostalgic boxes in your memory. It’s easy to unwind like this, so you take one of the folded-up throw blankets from the side of the couch, drape it over Jon and yourself, and enjoy the peace of the moment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When you wake, it’s to Martin’s voice. The two of you had fallen into a nap, empty tea mugs on the coffee table, Jon’s head resting on your shoulder, and the TV program having changed to something else. His eyes light up when he sees Martin, and he scoots over to make room for him between the two of you. The larger man takes the open space, kissing the top of Jon’s head and pulling you close with one arm. He’s warm and he smells like cinnamon, no doubt from his family’s house. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How was the visit?” Martin asks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, you know,” you say. “Glad it’s over.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That bad, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You should have seen what they were thinking,” grumbles Jon, a humored tone compensating for his bitter words. “The disdain, there was more of it there than the mountainous dinner!” His hands gesture about as he speaks. “The nitpicking over Y/N, the glares, the comments here and there. One of them was positive that I’m in my late forties! Ha!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m almost glad I didn’t go,” says Martin. “That would probably have made things a bit more complicated.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a moment, a brief second of silence, and then the three of you collapse into laughter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Could you imagine?” you manage through giggles.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s face scrunches up, most likely picturing it, before blowing a raspberry. He pinches the bridge of his nose with an “ugh” and shakes his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Best not open up that can of worms,” Martin agrees, and takes the remote from the coffee table. “What’s on now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not sure.” It’s something else animated, no longer the Nutcracker, with cartoon characters in Santa hats. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He takes to flipping channels. “Usually there’s never much good on Christmas, but…” The television screen changes, this time to David Tennant in a trench coat and suit yelling at someone in a rubber alien mask. “There are always Doctor Who reruns counting down to the Christmas special!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How could I have forgotten?” Jon sarcastically remarks. He’s not much of a Doctor Who fan, but doesn’t mind it, as it’s one of Martin’s favorites. “Which one is current again? I don't exactly keep up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I'm pretty sure it's number thirteen? Can't remember the actor's name though.” You used to watch the series a lot when you were younger, but less so nowadays. Regardless, you still kept up a bit, curious as to who was carrying the eponymous role of the Doctor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wonder if they're going to keep her for another year,” Martin ponders. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling one of Jon's hands worming its way around Martin's back, fingertips brushing one of your elbows, and let the peace of the moment sink in. The day has been stressful, but it's so nice to be able to come home, a place free of holiday stresses, and unwind with the two people you love most. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>